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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf .....Kg. 8 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



HILDA. 




" All three were there that summer night ;" 



Frontispiece. 



HILDA 



A POEM. 



i;v 



HANNAH A. ROSTER. 






ILLUSTRATED. 



,<< OF C 






<«F 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1879. 



-f.gll.14- 



Copyright, 1879, b Y HANNAH A. Foster. 



TO 

MY MOTHER, 

WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT WAS ITS INSPIRATION, 

THIS BOOK 

IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 

H. A. F. 



I* 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGB 

i( All three were there that summer night ;" . . Frontispiece. 

" ■ Because,' she said, 
1 He was a wounded soldier, and she knew 
How brave, how noble were the boys in Hue !' " . . . 49 

" I see 
Strange lines ! but one" — . . .82 



HILDA. 



PART I. 

A LL three were there that summer night ; 
Sweet Amy, with her eyes of blue, 
And fair hair falling soft and light 
In curls upon her shoulders white, — 
In curls, though none could tell their hue 
With sunset glories shining through! 

But Hilda had a bolder air; 

She was not beautiful, and yet 
a* 9 



io Hilda. 

In her dark eyes tne light was rare, 
And when it flashed from ambush there, 
On lip, and brow, and locks of jet, 
Some nameless charm its bright seal set. 

Hilda, the elder of the two, 

Was five, and little Amy three ; 

They loved the waters broad and blue, 

The breath of waves, — the first they drew, 

And the stern numbers of the sea 

Which mingled with their cradle glee. 

Their home was by the ocean-side, 
And from the very cottage door 



Hilda. 1 1 

It was the children's earliest pride 
To watch the coming of the tide, — 
Dashing its white foam on the shore, 
Then going out to sea for more 

They loved each other, but one day, 
While sitting in the cottage shade, 
Hilda grew angry in her play, 
And rudely snatched a knife away 
From Amy's hold ; the cruel blade 
Blushed crimson for the wound it made ! 

It healed; but in the dimpled hand, 
Whose pretty finger tipped with stain 



1 2 Hilda. 

Caught from the kisses of the sand, 
Points yonder to the sunset land, 
We read, as in scarred souls, the plain 
Life autograph of olden pain. 

All three were there, but only two 
To note the billows and the skies, 
For, nor the boundless seas of blue, 
Above, beneath, nor sunset's hue, 
Could waken pleasure or surprise 
In good old Rover's patient eyes. 

From wave to beach the bold breeze skips, 
Half folds his wing, as loath to fly 



Hilda. 1 3 

Enchanted ground, and eager sips 
Laughter and prattle from sweet lips, 
And joy from hearts untaught to sigh, — 
The pure glad breath of infancy. 

The glowing sun hangs still and low, 
Poised o'er his ocean mirror bright ; 
His haughty brow flames with a glow 
Of regal splendor, but they know 
How transient, and with child delight 
They watch him drop into the night. 

For them, cerulean chambers hold 
Couches whereon the shadows sleep 



14 Hilda. 

The day away, till, from the gold 
And purple hangings which enfold 
Their slumbers, forth they softly creep 
With lullaby for land and deep. 

The earliest stars were monitors 
Whose voiceless words they understood; 
Hark ! how the fresh'ning night-wind stirs 
The sea-weed ! Round the bluff how whirrs 
The eagle to her half-fledged brood, 
All clamorous for expected food ! 

"The stars are out, now for a race!" 
The little Amy shouts in glee; 



Hilda. 1 5 

Rover responds, with ready grace, 
Adapts his speed to suit her pace, 
While Hilda answers, fearlessly, 
u I'm coming; do not wait for me." 

Lightsome as merry morning bells 
The child soon gains the cottage door, 
Her simple story simply tells : 
" Hilda was seeking pearly shells, — 
She lingered longer on the shore ;" 
Yes, long, for she returned no more. 

How the swift-footed tidings sped, 
" Hilda is lost!" "Hilda is drowned!" 



1 6 Hilda. 

What eager careful search they led 
Along the beach, where fierce waves fed 
Upon the little footprints found, 
Alas, too near the briny bound ! 

How up and down, through all the night, 
Was heard the dip of willing oars ; 
While trembling hands made warm and bright 
The fires of home, " because she might 
Be drenched and cold !" but what restores 
Whom dark seas strand on silent shores? 

In at the door the morning came, 
Its slow smile with no hope beguiled 



Hilda. 

The frenzied watcher, whispering blame ; 
" Why did you answer to your name 
When angels called ? The way was wild ! 
Twas not your mother's voice, my child!" 

Day followed dawn, and night the day. 
Poor eyes that not a tear could shed 
When Hilda's clothes were put away 
Into the past, and Amy lay 
After her prayer, unheard, was said, 
Alone in her low trundle-bed! 

That answered with a far-off gaze 
The little one who tried to kiss 

2* 



1 8 Hilda. 

Away their look of mute amaze! 
Who still with sweet, half-frightened ways, 
Stroked the pale cheeks, now that, now this, 
And prattled on to ears remiss. 

There is no harmony in grief 
Where discord by suspension jars ; 
Where tears, the low notes of relief, 
Are not, and grim despair sits chief 
Among the singers, and unbars 
The madness of malignant stars. 

To know what most we hope is joy; 
To know what most we fear is pain ; 



Hilda. 19 

Pleasure may sparkle in alloy, 
Sorrow may smite, and not destroy; 
Fierce fires may sweep the smiling plain, 
And yet green roots of bloom remain. 

When love affrighted flees the he 
And hope and fear stretch equal win 
Tis doubt that points with cruel art 
Of long delay the deadliest dart; 
Slow torture barbs a secret sti 
Which strikes the soul of suffering. 

Poor soul at bay ! her fixed eye 

Holds the black heavens and burns its way 



20 Hilda. 

To the shut doors of destiny, 
Which she besieges with the cry 
Of awful prayers, that Fate shall say 
To her one question, yea or nay ! 

Upon the mother's heart the woe 
Fell fatefully, and hurried hence 
Her gentle life. " Nay, let me go; 
The heart is dead that cannot know 
Its clear-cut anguish ; soul and sense 
Distance the milestones of suspense !" 

11 Poor dear!" the neighbors softly sigh, 
And smooth the damp locks from her brow, 



Hilda. 21 

And come and go with tearful eye, 
And careful step, and meek reply; 
" Poor dear !" as in death's hush they bow, 
" Her bruised heart hath healing now." 

The burial; 'tis an hour full fraught 
With strange solemnities ; no touch 
Of sunshine warms, no ray inwrought 
With shimmerings of hope, but thought 
Weakened by woe, heeds only such 
As chills the spirit overmuch. 

Into her chamber small and still, 
The plain folds on her quiet breast, 



22 Hilda. 

With faded lip, and forehead chill, 
And step whose noiseless echoes thrill 
In anguished hearts doubly distressed, 
One enters ; peaceful be her rest ! 

Grief dims o'er-early childhood's sight, 
And Amy weeps as ne'er before 
When on the lips all cold and white 
She kisses "mamma dear good-night!" 
And when the last fond look is o'er 
They closely shut the sandy door. 

O sleep! thou art a blessed boon; 
Haste with thy balm for his lone breast 



Hilda. 23 

Whose soul is swept by swift simoon 
Just as his life is at its noon ! 
Come restfully and soothe to rest 
The birdling of a broken nest. 

Softly! whence steals this gracious shower 

Of magic healing ? Who can tell ? 

As dews distil on fainting flower 

At twilight's benediction hour, 

So falls to-night this holy spell, — 

The child is sleeping; it is well. 

Aye, more ; her dreamland life is sweet. 
With bright-eyed Hilda, hand-in-hand, 



24 Hilda, 

She strays where gladsome waters beat 
A sunny shore, while o'er their feet 
The light winds toss the golden sand, 
Which gleams in beauty on the strand. 

So sorrow, in the realm of sleep, 
Pre-empts a paradise of joy, 
Whose quiet gates the angels keep, 
Through which no throbbing sense can creep- 
Where life forgets its old annoy, 
And rosy weavers find employ. 

jft 5Jt * * * JfC 

For Hilda, long the father sighed, 

And searched the beach with troubled air, 



Hilda. 25 

And questioned the incoming tide; 

But still the sullen deep denied 

His tearful claim, and mocked his prayer, 

Till hope gave way to long despair. 

Round his lone home the autumn breeze 
Blew mournfully ; how could he stay 
To mend his broken nets for seas 
Surcharged with direst destinies? 
So with his pretty child one day 
He said " adieu" and sailed away. 

" Adieu !" Away, yet on the deck 
Long lingered, till the swelling breeze 



26 Hilda. 

Had blown away his little speck 
Of island home with all its wreck! 
Lingered till lost in angry seas 
The coast-line of his Orcades ! 

Away ! the land is broad and free 
Toward which his outbound vessel speeds. 
America ! to thee — to thee 
Still may the sons of sorrow flee 
From cruel fates, or states, or creeds, — 
Still reap as he for worthy deeds. 

Years pass ; the fisher's cot unkept, 
Stands pitifully weak and old; 



Hilda. 27 

Its floors the drifting sands have crept, 
And through its walls wild winds have swept ; 
Ceiling and root" sad records hold, 
Written in mildew and in mould ! 

And children sometimes gather near 
To tell again the oft-told tale, — 
How by the cottage ruins drear, 
When twilight deepens, oft they hear 
From drowning child a helpless wail, 
And Hilda's voice floats on the gale ! 

But this they speak in whispered tone ; 
How fishermen have sometimes spied 



2S Hilda. 

A shrouded woman, pale and lone, 
With tear-stains on her cheek of stone, 
And long, white arms extended wide, 
Walking the beach at eventide ! 

Thus year to year renews the tale ; 

What sounds are heard, what sights are seen; 

The shrouded mother, cold and pale, 

Roused from her rest by Hilda's wail ! 

Scorn not their legend, for I ween 

Names thus embalmed will long be green. 



PART II. 

A MERICA! how thrills from shore to shore 

Thy mighty pulses, while of them we boast 

Who heard her footsteps on thy rugged coast 

And to the star-crow r ned stranger oped the door! 

Peerless Columbia ! within whose light 

Kingdoms cast shadows ! Lo, from every land 
The heavy-laden haste to kiss the hand 
Which wears its blood -bought signet -ring of 
right. 

3* 2 9 



30 Hilda. 

Drear was her natal morn, yet to her shrine 
Great hearts brought sterling gifts and graces 

rare, 
Christened her Liberty, and bade her bear 

The sceptre Heaven-bestowed, with hand divine. 

To-day lurks there no foe within her gates ? 

Is there no peril in the path she treads ? 

The wise old nations shake their hoary heads, 
In awful oracles pronounce her fate. 

The air grows thick as with the mist of 
tears, 
The sighs of sable millions stir the folds 






Hilda. 3 1 

Of holiest banner, while oppression holds 
His scorpion lash aloft; the dark day nears. 

The flowery South is fevered with unrest ; 

From shore to shore unwholesome rumors fly, 
Heart questions heart, and eye replies to eye, 

The times are troublous, all the land dis- 
tressed. 

Fort Sumter's booming breaks the treacherous 
spell ; 

Forth to fraternal strife, ye sons and sires ! 

Go feed with bloody hands your altar-fires, 
Who dies for truth and liberty dies well. 



32 Hilda. 

To arms, ye Northmen ! Don your suits of blue, 
And for the "dear old flag" brave thickest fight. 
Forth from your sunny homes, ye men of 
might! 

Strike for your " stars and bars" with valor true. 

Be brave, O womanhood ! Not tears, but cheers, 
While drums are beating and they march away; 
Wing your pure prayers, " Heaven guard the 
blue!" "The gray!" 

With weary waiting weep away the years. 

Let prattling infancy forsake his toys 

To read sad meanings in his mother's eyes; 



Hilda. 33 

Let childhood leave his sports, and youth 
uprise, 
Drum-beats mature to soldiers, beardless boys. 

Roll on, ye fateful moons, till crimson rills 
Shall swell to rivers deep, and swift, and 

strong, 
Whose floods shall wash away a nation's 
wrong. 
Grand destinies are wrought in groaning mills. 

" Come in." She did not know the face 
Of her own boy, it bore such trace 



34 Hilda. . 

Of suffering, such a haggard look ! 
His trembling, wasted hand she took 
With prompt, warm welcome. 

" It may be 
You bring some tidings, sir, for me, 
From my son, Arnold ?" Fearfully 
Throbbed her poor heart. 

" Madame," he said, 
"Your son, though wounded, is not dead; 
But tattered blouse, and clumsy crutch, 
And army life have changed him much." 
His voice grew husky. 

" It is clear 
You do not know me, — mother dear /" 



Hilda. 35 

Lethean rapture loving lips 
Quaff eagerly, from memory slips 
The cruel past, from heart and brain 
The shadow, Eden blooms again! 

All she has suffered, all her tears, 
The anguish of those dreadful years, 
All more than cancelled in the joy 
Of greeting home her soldier boy. 

Sick, weary, wounded, none could tell 
His need like " mother," none so well 
Bathe the worn, tired feet as she, 
Prepare his toast or turn his tea. 



36 Hilda. 

Before the fire, in cosiest spot, 
She spreads his comfortable cot; 
Among her stores the best is sought, 
The fleeciest flannels forth are brought, 
And softest pillows, snowy white, — 
'Tis " mother" makes his bed to-night ! 
Oh precious ministry which steals 
Our heartaches with a hand that heals ! 
Oh blissful bloom from boughs above, 
What is thy name ? We call thee " love." 

That February day was done, 

That knew nor morn nor noonday sun ; 

No golden stairs her cold feet pressed, 



Hilda. 37 

No purple chamber of the west 
Opened its door and called to rest. 
A day, without a twilight blent 
With lapsing flush of firmament, 
A day, whose cloudiness but grew 
Thicker at nightfall, when she threw 
A murkier mantle round her form 
And stole away into the storm. 



Along the quiet country road 
The wagon with its cumbrous load 
Creaks ruefully; small is the need 
Of goading home the hungry steed. 



38 Hilda. 

The traveller, as he hurries past, 
Shielding his red face from the blast 
With huge gloved hand, descries a light 
Glimmering amid the gathering night. 
The humble farm-house whence it shines, 
So shadowed by its lonely pines, 
Looks desolate, as rain and sleet 
Against the low-browed windows beat ; 
But, oh, he does not, cannot guess 
What overflow of happiness 
From hearts within is welling up ! 
How from God's sweet anointing cup 
Down drips the precious oil of joy, 
Till in his sleep the soldier boy 



Hilda. 39 

Is kingly-crowned ; till e'en the head 
Which bows beside his silent bed 
Is haloed, while pale features wear 
The glory of that silvered hair! 

Her lips are tremulous with prayer; 
"I thank Thee, Father;" faint and few 
The words, but worshipful and true ; 
" Dear Father, merciful and good !" 
Forgotten, years of widowhood, 
Unheard the elements' rude strife, 
So fair, so sweet, so warm, is life! 

From broken slumbers waking oft, 
Feeling her gentle hand and soft 



40 Hilda. 

On his flushed brow, the throbbing brain 
Forgets its fever and its pain. 
Blest magic ! what that aching limb ? 
Or those long, restless hours to him? 



Oh consecrated Pain and Care ! 
Clasp close your hands ; the very air 
Is balmier for an hour like this; 
Breathe in the long-delayed bliss ; 
Hope bursts to-night in real bloom ; 
There's music in the humble room 
Sweeter than spring-time trill of birds; 
Only the soul can catch the words 






Hilda. 41 

So long unheard, not understood, — 

44 The Lord is good! The Lord is good!" 

When History with honest pen 
Records the glorious deeds of men 
Who rushed to battle, dared to die 
For Liberty, who shall deny 
Some little space for those who stood 
In weaker ranks? For womanhood 
Bivouacking in the dismal damp 
Of tears and shadows, till the lamp 
Of faith grew dim ? 

Did she not dare 
The very gates of death in prayer? 

4* 



42 Hilda, 

Did she not carry in her breast 
An anguish that forbade her rest? 
A tortured heart still true and strong 
Though crape was on the doors of song, 
And cold white fingers touched the keys, 
Waking hope's minor harmonies ? 



Oh love that ventures ! love that waits ! 
Not as the warrior formulates 
The patriot brave "who die or win!" 
What hosts were never mustered in ! 
We measure not by fixed degrees 
Your magnitudes and boundaries, 



Hilda. 43 

Hearthstones grow immortelles as true, 
As meadows wet with crimson dew. 



Heroes are men 
Who lead to victory; triumphant blades 
Rust slowly, though bedewed in battle shades. 
The man who wins, is whom fair women sing 

With sounding cymbals, " What is one to ten ? 
The shepherd boy is greater than his king." 

Fame hath her mood ; 
The world is hoarse with plaudits for her chiefs, 
But makes no mention in her bronzied briefs, 



44 Hilda. 

Of valorous souls, who may not press their 
claims ! 
Of deeds heroic, sunk in seas of blood, 
And rubbed out records of immortal names ! 

With honest aim, 
Undazzled by the bright emblazonment 
Of epaulets and stars, they early went 
To camp and field, pressed to the front like men 
In coat of mail ; they, whom with glad acclaim 
The happy villagers shout home again. 

For Peace hath brought 
Her doubtful day, — the day which follows strife ; 



Hilda: 45 

The joy, the woe, which sweetens, sickens life; 

A wave of welcome breaks on many a shore 
Where wrecks are strewn, a golden bow in- 
wrought 

With sombre shades stretches the whole land 
o'er. 

And these are come, — 
A few brave boys, who saw their comrades fall 
Facing the foe ; not one among them all 
Fled the red field or shamed the patriot pride 
Of worthy sire. Let Fame for such be 
dumb; 
She adds no lustre to deeds glory-dyed. 



46 Hilda. 

Among the crowd 
Gathered to welcome them, young Arnold sought 
With rapid glances chased by quicker thought, 
The one fair face he missed. About him pressed 
Neighbors and friends with greetings warm 
and loud, 
His heart's disquietude by all unguessed. 



As when a spray 
Of ocean wave is dashed into one's eyes 
So that he cannot see the green hills rise, 
Though native shores are nigh, so seemed shut 
out 



Hilda. 47 

Some blissful sight, or near, or far away, 
He knew not, blinded by the mists of doubt. 

Strange questioning! 
Could it have been a dream ? or did she stand 
One day beside his couch, with her own hand 
Arrange the flowers she brought, placing them 
where, 
Wounded and sick, he could drink in the spring 
With breath of early violets and fair? 

Was it her smile 
That lit his lonely hours with summer cheer? 
The music of her tones that charmed his ear 



48 Hilda, 

And thrilled his heart? Perchance some girlish 
whim 
But holds her hidden in the throng, the while 
Full many a lesser beauty beams on him. 

Not many knew 
The gentle girl who stole our hero's heart; 
From all the world they chose to dwell apart, — 
She and her father, — but when came the strife 

For Liberty, they were her friends most true, 
Strengthening the hands which battled for her life. 

And so it came 



That Arnold, "home on furlough," but so long 




" * Because,' she said, 
1 He was a wounded soldier, and she knew 
How brave, how noble were the boys in blue!' 



Page 49. 



Hilda. 49 

As served to mend his limb and make him strong, 
Opened his wondering eyes one day to see 

The pretty stranger girl, with cheeks aflame, 
Proffering flowers and sweet-toned sympathy ! 

" Because," she said, 
" He was a wounded soldier, and she knew 
How brave, how noble, were the boys in blue !" 
'Twas but a kindly courtesy, and yet 

New inspiration stirred him. Duty led 
Back to the front. 'Mid charge of bayonet, 

In deadly fray, 
In camp, on picket, o'er and through it all 
c 5 



50 Hilda. 

He seemed to hear her footstep in the hall 
Of the old farm-house, and sweet thoughts of 
her, 
Inwove with hues purpureal war's delay, 
And held him still her silent worshipper. 

And thus it comes 
That Arnold, on this day of war's release, 
O'er which are spread the broad white wings of 

peace, 
With many a hearty hand-shake, smiles, and 
tears, 
And greetings garnished with encomiums, 
Is welcomed home again. His hungry ears 



Hilda. 5 1 

Catch every tone ; 
For haply one more musical than all 
Yet heard, may heedful sense and heart enthrall; 
One word from her, — and yet he hears it not. 

No tell-tale zephyr whispers how her own 
Glad eyes are watching him from yonder cot ! 

But, one by one, 
Home doors swing open for war-weary feet, 
And evening's holy quiet soothes the street. 
But what of Arnold ? Brave he would not be 

To own defeat ere battle were begun, — 
And none were braver on the field than he. 



PART III. 

A SCHOOL, quite famous in its day 
For teaching in a pleasant way 
Things orthodox without an ism, 
From parsing to the catechism, 
Was the Miss Peters' of Melrose. 
The term was drawing to its close 
With gusty days which came and went 
Too slowly for the discontent 
Of rosy pupils, loitering through 
The prosy pages of " review ;" 

5* 53 



54 Hilda. 

Misses in early teens, erratics 
In ways polite and mathematics ; 
Maidens whose ages one might guess 
As eighteen, twenty, more or less ; 
The petted beauty much caressed, 
The conscious belle, who scorned the best 
Of Melrose youths as nothing worth, 
Thought school the dullest place on earth, 
And the prim Peters, long unmated, 
Awfully good, but antiquated ! 



Twas just before the holidays, 
The season when fantastic fays 



Hilda. 55 

Dance on the moonshine of the night, 
Stealing its silver threads of light, 
Intwisting the enchanting beams 
To form the woof of maidens' dreams. 
The time when but a smile, a glance, 
Is rife with possible romance ; 
The time when merest commonplaces 
Wear dimples in their homely faces, 
And quickened pulses well reveal 
The spring in duty's clumsy heel ! 
When castles with their airy towers 
Are built in recitation hours, 
Furnished, and peopled, while on books 
Are riveted most studious looks ! 



56 Hilda. 

When study hours are sore beset, 
And pupils by some chance forget 
Their lessons, and the order-line 
Dividing day and night at nine! 



A tap at number two ! Complete 
The hush of dainty slippered feet, 
And snowy drapery well taught 
To check the rustle of its thought. 
"Bon ami! heard you not the bell?" 
" Ah, is it you ? Come in, Adell ; 
I'm glad to see you — want advice ; 
The postman brought me something nice 



Hilda. 57 

To-night, — a pretty perfumed stray, 
A note whose words all slip away 
Into such lovely penmanship, — 
Just shadowing the sense they skip ! 
But read, and tell me what you think." 
A pause, in which two cheeks of pink 
Grew rosier. 

" Plain enough, I'm sure, 
Though slightly, studiously obscure, 
A lover ! Delicately done ; 
His very caution proves him one ! 
Capital, Amy ! Do you know 
I've had them, — half a score or so, — 
And 'tis such fun ! — but I must go ; 
c* 



58 Hilda. 

I just ran in to ask you where 

The lesson is ; I wasn't there. 

Thanks ! Now, my beauty, go to bed, 

And don't let lovers turn your head. 

Good-night." And gay Adell is gone, 

Her spirit than the forest fawn 

More lightsome. Amy shuts the door, 

And reads her letter o'er and o'er, 

And muses smilingly and long. 

Of course, in school-girls it was wrong 

To break the rules; they both admitted 

Their errors, wept, and were acquitted. 

And both, for two full days and nights, 

Kept study-hours, put out their lights 



Hilda, 59 

At nine o'clock, retired demurely; 
Henceforth they could be trusted surely. 
Dear girls! yet must it be confessed 
The yoke of rule so much oppressed 
Their buoyancy in rooms recluse, 
That when Adell said, " What's the use ?" 
And bribed the monitress — 

Ah, well, 
It isn't always best to tell 
The faults of others. They no doubt 
Had many things to talk about 
Beside their books. Each held a share 
In other's sorrow, joy, and care, 
And glad surprises. 



60 Hilda. 

Had he guessed 
How Amy's confidante expressed 
Its sweets from each exquisite note, — 
How every line and word he wrote 
Was scanned with merriest critiques, 
Methinks that Arnold's very cheeks 
Had burned, his very ears had tingled, 
Vexation with his love had mingled. 



Like caged bird whose golden wings 
Beat prison bars with flutterings 
For liberty, whose song the while 
As trilled from some bright tropic isle 



Hilda. 6 1 

Falls odorous on the charmed sense, 
So, tuned to sweetest recompense, 
The soul of Amy, day by day, 
Sang weeks of pupilage away — 
Breaking its strains to say " farew T ell ,! 
To boarding-school and " dear Adell." 



The month of brilliancy and tune, 
The joyous, sunny month of June 
O'er wooded hills had found his way, 
Blazed by the blossoms of the May, 
Into a vale, whose grassy slopes, 
Heavy with breath of purple hopes, 
6 



62 Hilda. 

The pretty village close about, 

That, all the dusty world shut out, 

With air of comfortable ease 

Sits 'neath the shelter of the trees, 

Where music bursts from every bough 

And summer breezes fan her brow, 

And purling waters pure and sweet 

From summer brooklets bathe her feet. 

The perfect dawn had stretched anew 

His wondrous canopy of blue, 

Dismissed the sleepy stars, and sped 

The twilight to his dusky bed ; 

Thrown back the blinds of groves and bowers, 

Looked in the faces of the flowers 



Hilda. 63 

To wake them up ; all this, and more, 
Ere Amy at the open door 
Chaperoned for a morning ride 
Appeared, — 'twas Arnold at her side. 
Her peerless form without display 
Clad in equestrian suit of gray, 
Her jaunty hat, with careless grace, 
Saucily shadowing her face 
From Arnold's eyes, but not the smile 
That wreathes her ruby lips the while 
With small gloved hand she culls a flower 
Sweet with the incense of the hour, 
And, half in coquetry, half jest, 
She pins the blossom to his vest. 



64 Hilda. 

Leaving the village scarce astir, 

Led on by hopeful harbinger, 

Across the bridge 'neath which is hung 

A swallow's nest of twittering young, 

Over the hill, a winding way, 

And through the valley silver gray 

With morning mists, whose fingers cool 

Cling to the rushes beautiful 

Which summer in the meadow lands, 

Where Nature lays, with holy hands 

Soft dripping from baptismal bowl, 

Her sacred silence on the soul. 

Words are but rude inventions, taught 
To trail the duller routes of thought ; 



Hilda. 65 

Too slow, and cumbersome, to rise 
Into the fine affinities 
Of rarer regions. There are times 
Whose hush the very sense sublimes, 
Till sighs unbreathed are clearly heard 
By hearts attuned to airs unstirred 
In outer courts. 

Poor Arnold felt 
His utterance into weakness melt 
Which he had purposed should be 

strong ! 
" I used to know a little song, 
A simple melody, and yet — 
All but the chorus I forget." 
6* 



66 Hilda. 

" Pray sing it ! all these birds and I 
Will listen," was the gay reply. 

Our hero whistled, cleared his throat, 
To which a strange asphyxia clung; 

Beginning with a minor note, 

The words all tangled on his tongue : 

11 True as the star which the mariner leads, 
Is my love to thee — to thee ; 
Oh, list thee, my darling, the while it pleads 
Sweet answer for me — for me !" 

Love sometimes steals into a heart, 

Which shuts the door and turns the key; 



Hilda. 67 

Nor lets one fluttering sigh depart 
Unpledged to sacred secrecy. 

Though eye, nor lip, nor tongue confess, 
'Twere vain to deem he is not there! 

Fond thoughts may spurn the soft address, 
But heart pulsations tread on air! 

An awkward pause. 

" Yon pretty bird 
That sings of joy, has never heard 
The rapture of one little word ! 
His happiest harmonies express 
No measure of the heart's excess 
Of bliss"— 



68 Hilda. 

"A mile, or more or less, — 
What think you, Arnold, — to that tree ? 
Be it a goal for you and me; 
And fleet indeed must be your steed 
To match my Zuby's willing speed !" 

The sportive challenge needs must be 

Accepted with due courtesy, 

Though Arnold's face, for one full minute, 

Wore footprints of annoyance in it. 

" This interruption is not chance !" 

He reads it in her merry glance, 

But spurns the luckless thought, and deems 

The day not distant when his dreams 



Hilda, 69 

Shall shift to glad realities ; 
When, without mischief in her eyes, 
His words of love shall claim her ear, 
Which now she has not seemed to hear. 



Well does the palfrey understand 
The language of the gentle hand 
Now stroking down the glossy mane, 
Now gathering up the loosened rein. 
The word is given ; away they speed. 
The nimble Zuby takes the lead ; 
A score of unbound curls, and bright, 
Are dancing in the morning light 



JO Hilda. 

Before his eyes ; they must not fly 
The near horizon of his sky ; 
Things beautiful have always wings ! 
No dust to her white sandals clings, 
The starry pathway bends so low 
He almost fears that she will go, 
Bearing his mortal love to Heaven 
Like the lost sister of the seven ! 
And yet his steed at every bound 
Lessens the intervening ground 
With steady gains which seem to say, 
" Sir Arnold, we shall win the day !" 
Until at length the race is done 
Which neither lost and neither won. 



Hilda. 71 

Just as their rapid course they stayed 
To catch the breath of coppice shade, 
Where ivy ribbons, smooth and black, 
Adventurous growths were binding back, 
And low-looped curtains swept the grass, 
Swaying to let the light wind pass, 
A covert gun, to ill propense, 
Burst near and thunderous on the sense! 
What wonder both instinctive start? 
Surprise may halt the bravest heart ! 

4i Only a sportsman." 

As he spoke 
Young Arnold pointed to the smoke 



72 Hilda. 

Slow mixing with the woodsey airs 
Its murderous breath. 

Amy declares 
Her terror, but at once descries 
The outlines of a new surprise, — 
A gypsy camp ! 

"There's naught to fear," 
Her lover whispers in her ear; 
Thus re-assured, though half afraid, 



She scans the seeming ambuscade. 



Sleek, shackled horses graze around, 
Wagons and plunder strew the ground, 



Hilda. 73 

Women and men a fierce array ; 
And children, terrible as they, 
Approaching nearer, wildly stare 
Through matted locks of coarse black hair, 
With old, hard faces, dark with grime, 
Lettered by cruelty and crime. 



A fire was burning in the shade, 
And by it stood a gypsy maid ; 
A weariness was in her gaze, 
And as her brown hands fed the blaze, 
Or stirred the strangely savored mess, 
A fitful gleam of restlessness 
d 7 



74 Hilda. 

Stole frequent from her downcast eye 
On those who watched her curiously. 
Ere long another took her place, 
When, from her young and sunburnt face 
She flung her tresses dark and long, 
And gliding from the gypsy throng 
Into the denser wood apart, 
Losing herself with studied art, 
Beneath a venerable tree 
Found refuge for sad re very. 
The hand on which her haughty brow 
Leaned lightly as it scorned to bow, 
By locks dishevelled veiled from view, 
Seemed to perform a service new. 



Hilda. 75 

Beside her wound a little brook, 
On which she gazed with varying look ; 
Sometimes delight was in her eye, 
Sometimes a sigh, she knew not why, 
Neither quite uttered nor repressed, 
Betrayed an undefined unrest. 

As farther in the wood they strayed 
The lovers spied the gypsy maid, 
Themselves unseen. 

A far-off look 
Was in the eyes that watched the brook. 
To her the babbling of the stream 
Wakened the echo of some dream, 



y6 Hilda. 

So distant that it only came 
Low-voiced as a forgotten name ! 
She caught it, and in tones replete 
With melody, so soft, so sweet, 
So plaintive sang, the very birds 
Listened to catch her tuneful words. 

SONG. 

11 Over the sea — over the sea 
Sweet loves are drifting away from me, 

Away — away ! 
Drifting, but whither I do not know, 
They broke from their moorings long ago 
When the tide was high and the sun was low. 



Hilda. 77 

Beautiful loves, floating afar, 

Led by the glimmer of fateful star ! 

" Over the deep — over the deep 
Where shadows gather and low winds sweep, 

Drift on — drift on ! 
Oh, the dreary years dig deeper graves 
For sweet young loves than coral caves, 
With their curtains of blue 'neath briny waves. 
Pitiful Past, gather them in, 
Shrouded by memories faded and thin. 

11 Stilly and cold — stilly and cold 
Sleep on, oh beautiful loves of old, 

Sleep on — sleep on ! 
While life, with its garnish of summer glare, 

7* 



78 Hilda. 

Its blasted hopes and promises fair, 
Its hearts of sorrow and brows of care, 
Wearily waits, treading a shore 
Where outbound barges return no more !" 



A winged zephyr brushed her brow, 
And swung aside the maple bough 
With curious whisperings, and betrayed 
The listening lovers to the maid ! 
She started; passion and surprise 
Flashed instant from her angry eyes ! 

" Your pardon, gypsy ! We intrude 
Upon your chosen solitude. 



Hilda. 79 

Yet please forgive an act so rude ; 
Your singing was so strangely sweet 
It held our hearts and stayed our feet; 
Forgive us; though we meant no wrong, 
We drank the sweetness of your song 
Unbidden : but we'll now away, 
Nor pain you with unkind delay." 

The gentle tones of Amy fell 

Upon her ear with magic spell ; 

Her eye withdrew its fiery dart, 

The words of kindness touched her heart ; 

A deep blush dyed her swarthy cheek, 

Twice she essayed, but failed to speak; 



8o Hilda. 



At length, 



" It matters not," she cried ; 
" Stay if you will, or farther ride, 
The forest shade is free and wide." 



" Nay, do not leave us," Arnold said, 
" But tell us of your life instead, 
Or rather tell us of our own, 
Our future destinies make known." 

" That is an art I seldom try," 
The gypsy murmured in reply; 
But further urged, 



Hilda. 8 

"Then, lady fair, 
Your hand; I'll read your fortune there." 

So Amy dropped the bridle rein, 
Hope's merry dancers in her brain, 
Ungloved her hand with gleeful haste, 
Eager her future bliss to taste, 
And, smiling, bade the gypsy tell 
A fortune that should please her well. 

Logic in love, will bend his ear 
Predictions sibylline to hear; 
Will sun his soul in reflex beams, 
And pay a stroller for his dreams ! 

D* 



82 Hilda, 

What indices to love's romance 

Are look and tone and circumstance ! 

Well hath the maiden's cunning read 

The story thus interpreted; 

So Arnold thinks, and bows assent 

To the quick glance those black eyes lent. 

She took the dainty hand; 
"I see 
Strange lines ! but one" — then suddenly 
She started, by some sign amazed ; 
Her burning eyes to Amy's raised, 
Studied each feature of her face 
As there her destiny to trace. 




'^s^^x^c^s 



" I see 

Strange lines ! but one" 



Page 82. 



Hilda. 83 

That wild, long look scorched Amy's cheek, 
And yet the sibyl did not speak; 
Her sealed lips turned ashen pale, 
Her strength seemed suddenly to fail ; 
Large drops stood on her forehead brown 
Where fell the tangled tresses down, 
In helpless weakness shook her frame ; 
So tremulous her grasp became, 
That Amy from its keeping slack 
Withdrew her hand, but gave it back. 



11 Speak, gypsy ! tell me what you see, 
The worst, whatever that may be ! 



84 Hilda. 

Don't torture me with this suspense; 
Your look of anguish so intense 
Bodes coming ill, but let me know 
My burden of impending woe." 



The words, which to a prayer had grown, 
Were answered by a stifled moan ; 
With a bewildered gaze she sank 
Before them on the brooklet's bank, 
And said, in accents low but clear, 
" Listen a moment, you shall hear ! 
My looks you have not read aright, 
So, lady, banish your affright, 



Hilda. 85 

And ere your fortune I make known 
I'll tell you something of my own. 

" I was not always what I seem, 
But what I was I scarcely know ; 
My childhood was a happy gleam, 
Unsullied as this crystal stream ; 
And something in this brooklet's flow 
Links to my childhood long ago ! 

" I had a home, I know not where, 
Only 'twas by the waters blue; 
A mother, who was kind and fair, 
With azure eyes and golden hair; 



86 Hilda. 

I never shall forget its hue, — 
Lady, methinks she looked like you ! 

" A sister — such a pretty child ! 

How free and merry were our plays ! 

And, though my mood was sometimes wild, 

I loved her ; she was always mild ; 

She had a thousand winsome ways, — 

Oh, those were happy, happy days ! 

" I had a father, good and brave, 
Though how he looked I cannot tell, 
But when his boat was on the wave 
My mother's face was often grave, 



Hilda. 87 

And as the shadows round us fell, 
We watched for him we loved so well. 

" Then when he came we gathered near 

To kiss him home and climb his knee. 

He used to tell us not to fear, 

Though waves were high and skies were drear, 

For one was with him on the sea 

Who walked the waves of Galilee. 

" My sister, she had golden hair 
Like mother's, but of lighter hue ; 
Her curls would float upon the air, 
Or cluster on her shoulders fair; 



88 Hilda. 

Her eyes were of heaven's brightest blue, 
Oh, lady! Amy looked like — you T 

The gypsy's tone had all along 

Been animated, clear, and strong, 

But faltered ere she ceased to speak. 

She saw the warm flush flee her cheek, 

A quick and fearful pallor chase 

The very life from Amy's face ! 

A sigh, a faintly fluttering breath, 

So lapsing sense makes truce with death ! 

But Arnold's eye had marked it all, 
His arms forbade a farther fall ; 



Hilda. 89 

The lovely lifeless form he laid 
Beside the trembling gypsy maid; 
They bathed her brow, he holding still 
The little hand ungloved and chill 
Caressingly. Perhaps she heard 
Her name, — perhaps a tenderer word ; 
Ah, well, o'er her fair features played 
A gleam which conscious answer made ; 
But as the waves of sunshine pass 
Unstayed across the summer grass 
Pursued by shadows in their train, 
So, from the young girl's 'wildered brain 
Reason's glad momentary ray 
Faded in emptiness away. 
8* 



90 Hilda. 

Anon she saw the brave old trees, 
Heard through them wing the morning breeze, 
But recked nor whom, nor when, nor whence, 
First cause nor final consequence. 
'Twas Arnold's hand that held her own, 
His the low words in tenderest tone 
Guiding her thoughts, confused and dim, 
Back to the world, herself, and — him. 

The gypsy maid was bending near 
With throbbing heart and eager ear. 

" I dreamed — no, no ! it must be true ! 
Dreams never, never hold in store 



Hilda. 91 

Such bliss! Speak, Hilda; it is you, 

My sister? Say it, I implore!" 

" Amy !" The maid could say no more. 



How blest the joy which tears bespeak 
When human words are grown too weak ! 

Arnold, sole witness of the scene, 
Failed to maintain a stoic mien, 
So far, indeed, that brave or weak, 
Stray tears stole down his manly cheek ; 
He knew it not, all thought, all heart, 
That play in which he bore no part. 



92 Hilda. 

Hilda was first to turn away, 
A terror in her dark eye lay, 
The gypsy's signal low but clear 
Had fallen on her practised ear; 
Up springing like a startled roe, 
She made a movement as to go. 

" You shall not leave me !" Amy cried. 
"Quick, Arnold! We must haste or hide!" 

No second bidding waits the youth, 
He plans and acts, 'tis well in truth, 
For sometimes moments fraught with fate 
Knock at the portal — just too late. 



Hilda. 93 

Quick to her saddle Amy springs ; 

A thousand hopeful, fearful things 

Flash the warm life-blood to her cheek ; 

She is no longer frail and weak ! 

The heart which loves has wondrous power 

To do and dare in peril's hour ! 



" Here, Hilda, quickly ! mount my steed ; 

I know his spirit and his speed ; 

He'll bear us safely, never fear; 

Once from the wood, the way is clear; 

Ready? Now closely cling to me 

And ' dare the pass to liberty/ " 



94 Hilda, 

So saying, forth with cautious tread 
Our hero through the thicket led 
The homeward flight, nor once forgot 
The pride, the peril of the plot, 
E'en though he often turned to trace 
The soul of Amy in her face. 

Emerging from the wood, they turn 
Just where the camp-fire fagots burn, 
Into the highway. 

"Stop!" All hear 
The rough command, but Hilda's ear 
Notes more; defiant curses chill 
Her soul, her very heart stands still ! 



Hilda. 95 

" She scorns my love ; her wretched life 
The forfeiture !" 

With murderous knife 
Drawn, flashing, forth a villain springs, 
The while with desperate hold she clings 
To Arnold, and away they fly, 
Closely pursued, while thought and eye 
Measure the distance at each bound 
As loud the hurrying hoofs resound ! 
Increasing hopes wake greater fears, 
But when the forest disappears 
As down they dash into the vale, 
Their fears decline, their hopes prevail, 



96 Hilda. 

And well, for surer promise still 
Awaits them as they rise the hill ; 
Their rude pursuers yield the chase 
And own them winners in the race. 



And now their reckless speed they bate 
And settle to a steady gait; 
Ere long the village spires are seen, 
The children playing on the green, 
The cheery markets, shops, and stores, 
The dwellings with their open doors 
And pretty porches cool and neat, 
The people whom they pass and meet, — 



Hilda. 97 

Pictures with warm, bright colors rife, 
All throbbing with instinctive life. 



Before a little low-hung gate 

Dismounting, they a moment wait, 

Wisely to plan the great surprise, 

Softening with slow formalities 

To sudden joy the route abrupt, 

That rarest sweets be safely supped ! 

Over the door June roses creep, 

And blushing through the lattice peep, 

The dewy diamonds evening set 

On sheltered sweetness gleaming yet. 

t 9 



98 Hilda. 

Poor Hilda's wandering, wistful gaze 
In through the half-closed shutter strays,- 
She sees him ! In his easy-chair, — 
His pleasant face, but silvered hair ! 
Oh, now the daughter's eye can trace 
Remembrance in that cherished face. 



Softly ! we may not rudely press 
Into their new-wrought happiness ; 
They answer to a sacred sign 
Who cross that threshold's magic line. 
To hungry hearts love's season suits 
Slow ripening good, or summer fruits, 



Hilda. 99 

Or buds of promise holding all ! 
Let not one curious shadow fall 
Athwart the fair face of their creed, — 
" All tangled pathways homeward lead" ! — 
Not ours to question how or whence 
The aptitudes of Providence, 
Enough, the writing now is read, 
The dark dream well interpreted ; 
Enough, that love and true content, 
The fixed stars in home's firmament, 
Above the clouds hold steady light, 
Blest stars, which never set in night ; 



ioo Hilda. 

Breezes blow inland from the sea; 
O memory, — better than we know 
Guarding the coasts of long ago, — 

What are a few dark years to thee ? 

Out-going feet can never stray 

Beyond the murmur of bright waves ; 
Roses will bloom on far-off graves 

After grief's winter wears away. 

The air is sweet with immortelles, 

Exotics root in sunny sands, 

And pebbles dropped from dimpled hands 
Intone life's ever-singing shells ! 



Hilda. IOl 

Blest quietude of home and state ! 
Nestled beneath thy snowy wings 
Lone lives forget their wanderings, 

And justice seems compassionate. 

Love knows his own ! a soulful sense 
Renders the text which seemed obscure; 
Hard lessons to long toil inure 

Ere glows the page of recompense. 

All colors lose themselves in white; 

God pencils every shade of chance; 

O'er stepping stones of circumstance 
He leads the soul into the light. 

THE END. 







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